Faverolles to Paris
by frustratedstudent
Summary: Javert wasn't the only man searching for Prisoner 24601. The youngest of Mother Jeanne's children finds himself on the trail of the uncle he never really knew.
1. By Any Other Name

_I am very surprised that I haven't seen more stuff about this topic: Jean Valjean's family. Anyway, note that I do not own them, or any of the other characters belonging to Victor Hugo._

**Chapter 1: By Any Other Name**

He was best known as Claude.

Whether he had any other name before this, whether a family name followed it, no one knew. However, the tall, broad-shouldered lad who lived on the Rue du Gindre was a friendly, if not familiar sight to the residents of that miserable quartier.

He and his mother had come to Paris some years before, when his mother was still healthy and worked as a book stitcher. Some time after Napoleon fell from power, a wave of consumption spread through the quartier, leaving Claude, then only sixteen, to mourn beside his mother's bier in the cemetery.

By the end of 1817 however, the memory of Mother Jeanne had been forgotten by everyone, save for this young boy.

One rather ordinary day, in the year 1823, the aged landlady of the Rue du Gindre saw Claude leaving the street with only a sack to hold his belongings in.

"Just where are you going, young man?" she scolded him sharply. "You haven't paid your rent!" 

"The rent is under the doormat," the taciturn fellow replied. He was powerfully built and no man, woman, or child dared to cross him. "I have to be going."

"Where to?" the concierge demanded.

Claude shrugged. "Faverolles."

"Whatever for?"

"To see my uncle, if he's there."

The concierge bent over and muttered something about the foolishness of youth before turning to go back in the house. Claude scraped his old teamsters boots across the walk as he hurried to find the coach. All the while, he had clutched in his palm a paper that his dying mother had given him. A paper with only two words scrawled on it: _Jean Valjean_.


	2. Good Intentions Gone Awry

**Good Intentions Gone Awry**

"Montfermeil, Monsieur. The horse needs to be watered," the coachman said gruffly.

Claude blinked at him. "What? So soon?"

"It's a considerably long way out. Now go and find someplace else to ponder that," another passenger said irately. Claude shrugged and stepped out of the coach.

The sight that greeted Claude made him shake his head. "Nothing worth seeing here," he said, kicking up some stones. The sight of so many trees around him was a little disconcerting; Claude hardly had the opportunity to see such an expanse of woods unbroken by pathways. He could hear the stream running someplace in the undergrowth.

"I may as well get something to eat," he said, drawing his greatcoat around him against the rising wind. It was already December; indeed, it was almost Christmas, but Claude was in no mood for cheer.

He unfolded the passport he had in his pocket. "Claude Beauchamp. Not very nice. Too commonplace," he muttered as he stopped outside an inn. Beauchamp was a name of convenience; he planned on changing it once he figured out the story of his family, and the whereabouts of his uncle and all his siblings.

Claude looked up at the crudely painted sign hanging above him. "The Seargent of Waterloo," he read aloud before pushing the door open. The dust stuck to his boots as he craned his neck to look for the innkeeper. In his searching, he almost did not see a pallid figure dart past him, carrying a huge broom. The broomstick caught Claude across the legs, sending him to the floor.

"Oh! I'm so sorry _Monsieur!_" a frightened voice exclaimed. Claude felt a small, frail hand close around his. He looked up into the face of a little girl; pale and wan, lower lip trembling from fear. 

"Nothing broken, _petit_," Claude said, sitting up. He looked at the tiny child, who was barefoot even in this cold weather. "Do you live here?"

The little girl nodded. Her eyes wandered to another room, where the lively chatter of other children could be heard. "Yes, with them and..."

"Cosette!" a sharp yell sounded from the kitchen. Claude nearly jumped out of his skin as a woman with huge arms and a colossal build stomped into the room. The skivvy let out a cry and hid behind Claude.

"_Bonjour_ Madame. This little girl was kind enough to show me in. I'm only stopping by to have something to eat---" Claude said nervously. He was pretty sure that this fearsome ogress of a proprietress was going to hit him with one of her fists.

The Thenardiess nodded at Claude and practically shoved a chair at him. She went and pulled Cosette out by her ear. "You aren't done yet, Little Miss Toad!" she bellowed at the trembling girl. "If you don't have the hall swept by the time I finish cooking, you will wish that miserable mother of yours never left you here!"

"_Oui_," Cosette whimpered, running out of the room and dragging the broom behind her. Claude, swallowing hard, took the opportunity to steal away from the inn.

"Better to eat someplace else," he said with a shudder, stepping back out into the cold noontime. For the first time, he wasn't sorry to be outdoors.


	3. Meet on the Road

**Meet on the Road**

Claude was furious as he counted out his money over and over again. "What to do for that little girl? She can't stay there!" he growled as he jammed his coins back into his purse.

He collapsed against his seat in the stagecoach with a disgruntled sigh. _"Maman, you taught me to be too kind_," he thought. Even in the worst of their poverty, he and his mother always found some way to do their neighbors a good turn.

He leaned out the window of the stagecoach and blinked at the sight that greeted him. "What an odd fellow to be wearing a yellow coat!" he remarked.

"Some bandit," someone else in the coach said.

"An odd one. There are people like that," a lady chimed in.

Claude shrugged. "Wonder what business he has, walking about when he could easily take a coach. He's no worse off than we are."

"Say, you went to that inn? The proprietress was in a foul mood when I went in before the coachman told us to hurry up since we were leaving," the lady said.

"My doing. I tripped over her serving-girl," Claude said, flushing slightly. For the first time, he got a good look at the lady speaking to him. She seemed no older than around twenty-three, with her luxurious black hair in braids and her cheeks showing the faintest mark of freckles. Judging by her appearance and the state of her slightly gnarled hands, she was a working girl going on some trip.

The lady blushed as she realized that Claude was staring at her. "_Monsieur,_ why the attention?" she asked coyly.

Claude held out his hand by way of introduction. "I'm Claude Beauchamp."

"Mimi Leroux," the lady replied, toying with her handkerchief. "Where do you go, _Monsieur_ Beauchamp?"

"Faverolles. And you?"

Mimi leaned in as if about to tell some deadly secret. "Montreuil-sur-mer. How un-Parisian is that?" 

Claude laughed. "_Mademoiselle_, I have heard of late that the town reached some prosperity..."

"Before its mayor was jailed," Mimi frowned. "Too bad for me. I have family there. Now what is a young man like you have to do with a town like Faverolles?"

"I have family there," Claude said stiffly. "_At least I think so_".

Mimi lowered her eyes. "_Je suis desole..."_

"Nothing to forgive, _Mademoiselle,"_ Claude said


	4. Divergence

**Divergence**

"You said you had family in Faverolles?"

Claude opened his eyes sleepily as the stagecoach jostled again. It was evening, and they were still traveling. "That I did." 

Mimi wrapped her shawl around her shoulders more tightly. "Who?"

"An uncle. Maybe cousins by now." 

"Oh, you do not write to him or see him much?" 

Claude bit his lip; were it not for the girl's charming ways, he probably would have shouted at her to stop pestering him with one query after another on any topic that crossed her mind. "I haven't seen him in my life. I'm only looking for him for my Maman," he finally said curtly.

Mimi sighed. "I wish I had cousins."

Claude rubbed his eyes. "I can't believe we are traveling this late."

"Why not? It is rather exciting. And there are gendarmes who make sure there are no horrible folk about."

"Gendarmes? More like wolves." 

Mimi stared at Claude as if the young man had just spat on the Bible. "My brother is a gendarme," she said haughtily. 

"My apologies, mademoiselle." Claude said, averting his eyes to avoid her piercing gaze.

"I know sometimes they are rather...rough. Like my brother's friend, Monsieur Inspector Javert. But they mean well. They keep things safe."

"I suppose they do."

Mimi wrung her hands uneasily. "Tomorrow, we part ways," she said after a while.

"Oui. One coach will take you to Montreuil-sur-mer. I'm going on another, to take me towards Faverolles. Then I'll walk another day once the coach reaches the end of its route," Claude said.

"You'll wear out your shoes."

"As long as it doesn't snow, that is fine by me."

Mimi smiled. "You're a brave one, Monsieur Beauchamp."

It was enough to make Claude regret the next day that he hadn't found out her address.


	5. Faverolles

**Faverolles**

_Days later_

Claude knew that Faverolles would not impress him so much. After years of living in Paris, the small town seemed to hold little wonder for him.

As he walked along the quiet street, he could feel the hollowness weighing on him. "_This really can't be home_," he realized. The town felt too small and too empty for him. Even the way he walked seemed awkward for the village; years of dodging muck and grime had given him an almost nervous, harried gait that people raised their eyebrows at.

He'd spent the better part of the day asking around for any sign of his family; of his uncle and his six other siblings. However, it seemed as if his entire family had vanished from the people's collective memory altogether.

"I doubt even the wronged remember," Claude mused as he passed by the now decrepit bakeshop where the crime had taken place so long ago. Still, he noted the bars now on the windows.

Claude turned a corner and found a small house with a tiny garden out front. Something about the way the door creaked on the hinges seemed to stir something in the back of his mind. "Is this where we used to live?" he wondered. He felt an urge to walk up and peer in the door, in hopes of catching a wisp of the familiar.

However, better sense took over. "Curiosity is just as punishable as need is," he reminded himself as he backed away. Besides, there were children playing inside; their laughter sounded sweet and bitter to the young man's ears.

Claude's next steps took him to the town hall. His inquiries directed him to a dingy room where a wiry, bored clerk sat about smoking.

"Monsieur, you keep records here?" Claude asked.

The clerk raised an eyebrow. "Oui. What do you look for?"

Claude swallowed hard. "Records of a man who used to live here. Jean Valjean. He was put in prison more than twenty years ago." 

"Prison eh, boy?" the clerk said. "Twenty years ago...what for?"

"Stealing a loaf of bread, or breaking into a house. I don't know which."

The clerk got up and pretended to rifle through yellowing folders and papers "I'm sorry, I can't help you very much," he frowned. 

Claude crossed his arms. "Where did they put prisoners?" 

"The galleys of course, boy."

Claude shuddered. He'd heard tales of the galleys from some of the grizzled old men who used to live near where he'd grown up in Paris. "Toulon?" he asked.

"Where else? You won't recognize him when you get there, even if you call his name," the clerk said. "Give them a number, that's enough."

Claude's eyes narrowed. "Can I ask someone when I get there?"

"Perhaps. Sorry, I cannot do much. My authority is only here, in Faverolles." 

An hour later, Claude quit the town and headed south for the coast.


	6. Toulon

**Toulon**

If Claude had been eager to leave Paris, practically shooed out of Montfermeil, and disappointed by Faverolles, he felt almost swallowed up down at the coast.

The sight of the ships in the harbor, of the crowds, of the wide expanse of the Mediterranean before him made this intrepid, yet shy young man quiver in his boots. "How am I to find him here?" he wondered aloud as he walked up and down the street, having been given wrong directions by a well-meaning passerby for the third time in an hour. It was high noon, but he still felt rather cold. At length, he took his rest on a bench, all the while toying with a piece of bread he bought for a sou.

One of Claude's biggest difficulties was his being rather ignorant of prison systems. Now, with a rather cobbled together understanding of papers, prisoner numbers, convicts for life, central prisons, and the workings of the galleys, he tried to put together some plan of action. "Suppose I go into the galleys myself? The adjutants may be of help in finding who he is...it really does not help in the office that they refer to prisoners by numbers," he mused as he chewed on his meager repast. After dusting the crumbs off his coat, he headed off towards the docks.

A surly looking adjutant met him. "What is your business here?" he asked, crossing his arms over the papers he carried.

"Monsieur, I'm looking for a man. His name was Jean Valjean," Claude replied.

"What is his number?"

"I do not know. I was hoping someone could tell me."

The adjutant pointed to an office down the road. "The registrar. Ask there."  
The registrar was, like the records archive at Faverolles, a notably sleepy place. "_It's probably because it's just two days after the New Year_," Claude noted. He couldn't help but wonder if the chairs lined up in the corridors were for convicts, or the people who sought them out. "_And perhaps in the latter case, they may be very few_." 

"Jean Valjean, you said?" the portly clerk who was helping him said.

Claude nodded. "What is his prisoner number?"

"He had two. 24601 and 9430."

"Oh, what for?"

The clerk smiled sadly. "Does it matter now? Jean Valjean is dead."

Dead. The word was enough to propel Claude towards one of the chairs he'd pondered upon. "How?" he stammered.

The clerk leafed through the folder he carried. "He fell off the ship Orion, and was presumed to be drowned. Je suis desole...was he some relative of yours?"

Claude nodded dumbly. "Why did he have two prisoner numbers?"

The clerk sat down. "Well, from the news, he was let out, then became something of a decent fellow before he was caught again getting into the Montfermeil stagecoach."

"Montfermeil?"

"Strange business. Well then, young man, do not bother the dead. He's probably better off that way."

Claude shook his head. "Did he have any friends? Could I speak to someone who might be able to tell me what happened?"

The clerk considered Claude, as if he was some animal ready for the slaughter. "Have you the stomach for it? Some of that man's friends in the chain gang are probably still here. They testified at Arras."

"Can I speak to them?"

"Go to the galleys. Look for Prisoner 8650, formerly known as Brevet. The adjutants will help you."


	7. Brevet

**Brevet**

As it turned out, Brevet was 'trying to make himself useful' when Claude came upon him. The grizzled convict was ankle deep in lint when the adjutants threw open the door to his cell.

"Now what do you want?" the convict asked the adjutants.

"Be nice to this young man. He's asking for news about your old friend, 24601," an impetuous adjutant answered.

"24601? You mean Jean-the-Jack?"

"If that be his name," the adjutant said, half-shoving Claude in. "Just for a quarter of an hour."

Brevet looked Claude over as if the young man was some piece of meat to be thrown to a wolf. "Now what would you want with Jean-the-Jack? Family of yours?"

Claude nodded. "What happened to him?"

Brevet tossed some lint up into the air and caught it in his grimy palm. "It was an ordinary day when he drowned off the ships. Accidents happen, boy, but I think it was no accident. There was always a shrewd mind under that quiet manner of his."

Claude cracked a smile as he leaned against the dirty walls. "Shrewd mind?"

"Oh yes. He tried to escape four times, you know?" Brevet said. His ghastly smile showed his blackened teeth. "Would have been out in five years, so old Cochepaille told me once, but he just wouldn't quit."

Claude whistled. "You ever find out why?" 

"I don't know, lad. Sick of the galleys, maybe missing family. Though if it took you this long to come looking for him, I don't think it was worth the wait," Brevet sneered.

Claude would have hit Brevet if the adjutants hadn't been looking on. As it was, he merely balled up his fist. "So where is he?" 

Brevet shrugged. "You think I'd be able to help you find him? I'm in solitary, boy!"

Claude rolled his eyes. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"At Arras." Brevet replied. "Well then, I was just doing my work here, when suddenly I was called to talk about some fellow. Champmathieu was his supposed name, but the judge and the inspectors went about calling him Jean Valjean. I could see why; he did look like Valjean, a little bit. So trying to be honest, I said he was. Suddenly, out comes this old gentleman from the bench. Turns out it was the real Valjean, only that they were calling him M. Madeleine." 

Claude nodded. "Shrewd fellow."

"Yes. He managed to become a mayor, you know?" Brevet said.

"Where?" 

"Montreuil-...I forget what." 

"Montreuil-sur-mer?" Claude asked.

"Might be," Brevet said. "Now leave me alone. I'm picking lint!" 

Claude nodded to the adjutants, who let him out of the cell. _"Seems that no one talks about the dead. No wonder they are forgotten."_ he mused.

"Well, that wasn't useful," the young adjutant said.

Claude shook his head. "How do you get to Montreuil-sur-mer from here?"

"Three days on the stagecoach."

Claude winced. "_I wonder if Mlle. Leroux can help me there"_.

Of course, had he known how affairs were in Montreuil-sur-mer, he might not have been so eager to set out.


	8. Sidetracked

bSidetracked/b

iMontreuil-sur-mer/i

"iDieu/i, what is going on in here?" Claude asked in a low voice as he looked around the busy street. It was only busy because nobody was at work; the factory lights were open, but no one went in and out of the gates. However, workers crowded outside the walls, awaiting something. A few had turned back to being beggars; now they were crouched in alleyways, calling out piteously for coins or bread.

"Fighting again among the foremen. Too bad the Mayor's not here to clear it up," an old man wheezed.

"Who's the mayor?"

"M. Madeleine, but he's had another name."

Claude nodded, feeling a little sick to his stomach as the full gravity of the situation sank in. "iSome great person has fallen...and now, no one knows what to do about it./i"

Some part of him wanted to speak up, to declare to the town that he was none other than the nephew of their lately beloved mayor. "iBut where's that going to get me?"/i

"Monsieur, would you know where the Leroux family is?" Claude asked the bystander who'd spoken to him.

"Leroux? Ah, the old man is in there, arguing it out," the grizzled factory worker replied. "You have business with him?"

"Non."

"So it's the mother, or the young ladies? Try 16 Rue de Ligne."

"Merci." Claude said, adjusting his hat and brushing off his coat and trousers. He really had no idea what to say if he ran into Mimi again. "iAt least it's good to have a friend..."/i

The Leroux family lived in a relatively large house near the middle of town. They had been one of the families least affected by the collapse of the factory. Claude felt a little shy as he walked up to the door and knocked.

As fate would have it, when the door opened, Mimi stood there. She was wearing a rather expensively trimmed silk dress. "Monsieur Beauchamp!" she greeted lightly. "What brings you here to Montreuil-sur-mer?"

"An inqury, Mademoiselle Leroux," Claude said cordially.

"Do come in," Mimi said, showing him into the elegantly furnished sitting room. She sat down primly on a piano bench while Claude took an armchair. "How was your business in Faverolles?"

"Not quite what I expected, but I did find something of interest." Claude replied. By and by, he told his story, and what he knew of Valjean. It just felt good to have someone to talk to.

Mimi listened in with the interest of a cat readying to stalk a bird. "You said the former mayor...wait, you mean he's your uncle?" she exclaimed after a while.

"Oui. No one knows except you or me," Claude said hurriedly.

Mimi clapped her hands. "You might just be the answer to this entire mess here. I should tell Papa..."

"Mademoiselle, don't!" Claude protested, moving to stop her. However, the parlor door opened, revealing the form of a burly man dressed in clean but darned clothes.

"You have company, Mimi?" the newcomer greeted gruffly.

Mimi nodded. "Papa, this is my isweetheart/i Claude Beauchamp. He took care of me in Paris. He's the nephew of Monsieur Madeleine, you know! Claude, it's so nice you came here to meet Papa..."

Claude's jaw fell. "iHas she gone out of her senses?!"/i he wondered as he shook Monsieur Leroux's hand. "Actually, I'm here merely on an inquiry," he said uncomfortably.

"Oh no!" Monsieur Leroux said warmly. "Any friend or relative of Monsieur Madeleine is welcome here. I don't care if the man was a con, he got me rich anyhow. Well then, it's a pity you don't seem to want to stay long, Monsieur Beauchamp. With all the trouble here, we need some help in sorting out the factory. I'm sure my wife and my children won't mind you staying here for some time."

"Do stay, Claude. It's better than sleeping in the inns." Mimi begged.

"Non. I already reserved a room," Claude said. It was a lie, actually. Claude didn't even know where the inn was.

Monsieur Leroux winked at his daughter. "See how polite he is, Mimi. You should bring home such company more often..."

It took all of Claude's restraint not to collapse into a chair, or leave the house in a most undignified manner. "iBut damn it all, the way they talk, I'm not going to be able to leave this town for weeks!"/i

"I hate to bear bad news, but Monsieur Madeleine passed away," Claude said after a while.

The two connivers stared at him. "Dead? How?" Monsieur Leroux asked.

"An accident."

"Now, Monsieur Beauchamp, have you any brothers or sisters?"

"Oui, but I must write to them..." Claude said. This was another lie; he had no idea where they all were.

"Well, that factory belongs to you, the next of kin. It's just a matter of getting the others to see sense. Go on, write to them. You can stay here in the town while you await their answer." Monsieur Leroux grinned.

Claude now wanted to hit himself upside the head, or as an alternative, wipe the simpering look off Mimi's face. i"Maman, you never told me how to deal with folk like these..."/i he thought. "iAnd you didn't teach me to be a liar..."/i

"Claude, are you quite fine?" Mimi asked concernedly.

Claude nodded. "No need to concern yourself," he said quickly, if only to hide that he was feeling sick to his stomach.


	9. 1830: For Better and For Worse

**1830: For Better and For Worse**

Claude was right about one thing: he wasn't able to leave Montreuil-sur-mer for more than just a few weeks.

As the years passed, Claude found himself sinking deeper and deeper into the mire. Within three months of his arrival in the town, he was forced to make a rendezvous at the altar with Mimi Leroux.

A year after, Mimi bore a son. Claude insisted on naming the child Bernard. Two years later, a daughter was born and given the name Adrienne.

Claude never told Mimi that these were also the names of his siblings. He never told her of his attempts to write to his siblings, to inquire about them, and to occasionally, slip out to pursue some news.

In 1828, Monsieur Leroux met a riding accident and was bedridden for a year before he eventually died. Claude and Mimi found themselves having to take over his share of the business. However, within six weeks, they were forced to sell their shares. Claude took up a job as a cobbler.

So it was that 1830 found Claude to be only slightly richer, but ten times more miserable than before.

On the second day of this year, however, a knock came on his door.

"Bonjour Monsieur Beauchamp." Monsieur Bamatabois greeted when Claude opened the door.

"What can I do for you, Monsieur Bamatabois?" Claude asked the dandy warily. He knew Bamatabois, but never in his time in Montreuil-sur-mer did this arrogant dandy address him as 'Monsieur'. There had been some enmity between them over the sale of M. Leroux's share of the business.

Bamatabois looked Claude over. "I heard from Madame Victurnien that you once lived in Paris."

"Six years ago." Claude wiped his hands on his trousers. "Why do you ask, Monsieur?" 

Bamatabois looked over his shoulder out at the street. "My nephew Jerome is going to Paris to study. I want you to accompany him, to help him settle in, perhaps even for you to work there." 

Claude stiffened. _"A way out, but I do not like his eagerness."_ he thought. "I'll think about it. Give me a day."

However, he heard footsteps behind him. "Of course we'll go to Paris, Monsieur Bamatabois. Claude is merely being polite," Mimi chimed in all of a sudden.

Claude turned to her. "Mimi, are you quite sure?"

"Oh Claude, don't be a fool," Mimi cajoled. "We are not getting anywhere in this town," she added in a fierce undertone.

"And you think we can make our fortune in Paris?" Claude asked. 

Mimi nodded with a simpering smile on her face; the look that Claude had grown to dread. "Surely there are more opportunities for a working man than here!"

"Monsieur, Madame Beauchamp, are you planning to remove?" Bamatabois reiterated. 

Claude nodded firmly. "_I hate to admit it, but for once, Mimi is right."_. "We'll go. How soon?" 

"Two days," Bamatabois said. "I will tell my nephew to meet you and your family here at eight in the morning." 

Mimi clapped her hands as Bamatabois went off. "Paris, Claude! At last..."

"It's a journey long overdue in the making," Claude snapped, storming off to begin packing his things. "We shall have to sell what we have here."

"Sell? Can't we keep a house to return to?"

"We'll need every sou when we start out."

Mimi threw up her hands resignedly. "I was hoping...but never mind, Claude. It is your choice after all," she said, her tone turning haughty as she went into the parlor.

Claude stared after her and shook his head. He could hear his two children playing upstairs, heedless of the turmoil below. "If it wasn't for them..." he murmured. For a moment, he thought of simply taking Bernard and Adrienne with him, and going off to Paris that very night, but common sense ruled out.

"If something happens, what will become of them?" he reminded himself as he went to break to them the news of their move, all the while counting down the hours.

_"Though this can't be as bad as nineteen years in the galleys,"_ he realized. It had been some time since he'd pondered the fate of Jean Valjean.


	10. Chance

**Chance**

Unlike his uncle M. Bamatabois the older, young Jerome Bamatabois proved to be congenial company, even if slightly on the brash side. So it was that even three days after arriving in Paris, Jerome was still pretty much within Claude's sight.

On the fourth day, Jerome knocked on the door of the room in the inn where the Beauchamp family lived. "Ah, shouldn't you be in class today?" Claude said when he saw the student.

"Not yet. Listen, Monsieur Beauchamp, you know you can't stay in the inn forever. The rent is costly," Jerome said.

"Well, I don't know of a place to lease yet." Claude said in an undertone. Mimi and the children were still asleep nearby.

"We can go about this afternoon. There are some decent lodgings about," Jerome said. "I know of a place, at the Rue Plumet."

"How big?" 

"Nice house, with a porter's lodge out back, and a garden."

"Adrienne would like the garden." 

"Well, what are you waiting for? You can go and see it later, and ask the landlady," Jerome said enthusiastically. "Do you know how to get there?"

Claude nodded, and sneezed. "I have work, but I'll do my best."

_"Bonne chance"_ Jerome said, disappearing down the passage. Claude watched him go before going back into his room to fetch his cobbling tools.

"Damn this cold, but I have some work to do," he told himself.

Afternoon however, had other plans.

It was about six in the evening when Claude finally was able to put down his needle and thread. His head ached, and his nose was running. He could barely walk into the door of his room without stumbling.

"Oh Claude, why did you insist?" Mimi said soothingly as she tended to him. "Now what shall we do? A doctor is a little expensive."

"I'll get over it, Mimi. In the meantime, we have to find lodgings," Claude said between sniffles.

Mimi bit her lip. "I know of a place down by the Rue Saint-Honore."

"Rue de Gres also sounded promising, I hear." Claude said. "What I really wanted to do was go to this place, on the Rue Plumet." 

"Maybe tomorrow..." Mimi said, putting a wet cloth on Claude's brow. "Sleep now."

For once, Claude took her advice.  
The landlady at the Rue Plumet was a wiry, spindly old woman who had a habit of wringing her hands. "Je suis desole, young man, but I have already leased out the place," she said after Claude had finished his narration early the next morning.

"Oh, to who?" Claude asked, bewildered and dismayed.

"An old gentleman and his young daughter. They're moving in later today." the landlady said kindly. "Look, there are other places nearby...or you could share the house." 

"_Merci Madame,_ but I think I'd like for my family to have a place of their own," Claude said politely with a bow before he left the street.

"Bonne chance!" the woman called after him.

"Is that all people have to say to me?" Claude mused as he turned towards the Rue de Gres.


End file.
